The Storage Room
by The Dangerous One
Summary: America tries (yet again) to clean out his storage room. Historical!Fic, series of oneshots of American history. Loosely follows my US History textbook for school. T for wartime memories and possible France.
1. Prologue

Standard Disclaimers Apply

It was that time of year again. Alfred always tried to clean out his storage room (it was really more like a storage floor, but anyway...) around October. Over time he had discovered that it was the time of year when he could get the most work done before becoming overwhelmed by memories or the ghosts of his past, and sometimes that was more literal than he liked to admit. Alfred walked up the staircase to his storage room slowly. He didn't really like cleaning out his storage, but he had to do _something_ about it. At last he was on the landing where The Door was. With some dread, Alfred turned the doorknob, entered the room, and there was no going back.

(A.N. You guessed it, it's another Storage Room fic! This isn't just going to be snippets of American history, we're going to follow Alfred from his colony days to the present day. I'm going to start from the start of European colonization because I don't know much about the native Americans and their lifestyle apart from watching Pocahontas when I was little. For convenience, in this story Native!America and Colony!America are two different people. This chapter is a sort of prologue because I don't have enough time to type out the entire chapter. It's set in modern day, but the rest will be some time in the past. As time goes on, the chapters will probably be more detailed because I'm going to be basing most of the actual history on my ACP US History textbook: _Give Me Liberty: An American History_ and while it's still insanely detailed I know more about 1880 and on. Yes, I know I should probably update Ghosties or The Christmas Truces, but I'm having a bit of writer's block with that story... maybe re-watching some Halloween movies would help...)


	2. Witchy Times in Salem

**(A.N. Here's another chapter! It might get a bit angst-y, but never for a long time. I'm not very good at keeping a story negative for any length of time. Anyway, America discovers some reminders of the Salem Witch Trials of 1693. In this fic, Abigail Williams is seventeen, which **_**isn't**_** accurate, but it makes things easier for me and I'm not the first to age her up. No, I didn't just have to read The Crucible in English class, what are you talking about?)****  
**Standard Disclaimers Apply

Alfred couldn't see much when he first went inside. After groping around the wall for a minute, he finally found the light switch and flipped it, a few dusty bulbs illuminating the room around him. He'd have to expand since he last tried to clean. After 260+ years, everything needed to be put up in his attic, where he could try to forget about them for a year before having to go up and clean out again. The first thing he saw was a pile of books hastily thrown on the floor next to the door. They looked really old and hand-bound. Were those really Alfred's? He couldn't remember for a second before realizing that he _had_ seen those books before. Not only had he seen those books, he used to read them, borderline religiously. They were from _that_ time...

Alfred snuck into the attic of his and Arthur's house with some of the spell books Arthur had given him. Alfred had shown an interest in magic and Arthur had started teaching him. Arthur himself couldn't be there because he had to attend some important meetings back in England, but Alfred was confident that he could take care of himself because he was a hero and heroes don't need any help doing anything! He was halfway up the staircase when someone started knocking at the front door. Not bothering to set down the book, Alfred went back down the stairs and opened the door. "Yes?" he asked, looking up at the three girls looking back down at him. It was the preacher's daughter and two of her friends, Ruth Putnam, Abigail Williams, and Mercy Lewis. Ruth asked if Arthur was at home, and started to turn away when Alfred told her that Arthur had gone back to England but would be back in a month. The one on the right-Abigail- looked curiously at the rather large book Alfred was holding. "Is that book _yours_, Alfred?" she sniffed, looking down at him. Even though Alfred was older than all three girls put together, he still looked very young. Alfred looked back up at her proudly. "Yep! Arthur gave it to me to read while he's away!" Abigail snatched it out of his hands, weighing it in hers. "Why did he give you such a heavy book? What's _in_ here?" she asked, opening it to a diagram of one of those circles Arthur liked to draw on the wall of the kitchen.  
All three sets of eyes widened at this. Ruth and Mercy quickly made the sign of the cross and Abigail tried to shift the weight of the book from two hands to one so she could cross herself as well, but it slipped and fell to the floor, opening to a different page detailing how to summon spirits that was crossed out. At the top of the page was written 'Just brings that guy under Tartar' in Alfred's handwriting. He remembered that time... he and Rus (A.N. Russia's name back then) had had a nice, long conversation before Arthur was able to send him back. The three girls stepped back and Alfred took the book back, holding it under one arm. Abigail looked at him in confusement. "That book had to be at least fifty pounds! How can you hold it under one arm?!" she asked. Ruth's eyes were like dinner plates. "Witchcraft..." she whispered. "Your family practices witchcraft!" "It's not bad!" Alfred insists. "White magic only, Arthur always says. Have we ever done your families harm?" he asked. The girls admitted that neither of them had. Curiosity getting the better of her, Abigail stepped forward saying "What's the difference? Magic is magic, and magic is the devil's work." Looking around, Alfred noticed that others were starting to come walking in their direction, so he said "This isn't the time nor the place to talk about this. Meet me in the forest tonight and I'll tell you..."

Alfred shuddered at the memory. They had tried to hang him for that, and had almost succeeded. Arthur had come back at the last moment and saved him from the gallows, but it was a close shave. Setting the books aside, he groped blindly around himself and picked up a yellowing piece of parchment. It was a letter from Arthur detailing the new taxes Alfred had to pay. At the top in fading letters were the words 'The Stamp Act'.

**(A.N. I'm so sorry it took this long to get this chapter out! I've been working on other fics, and real life has been a real bitch lately, so... yeah. Speaking of other fics, I need some help with my new Kuroshitsuji one. If anybody knows anything about the British education system, review or PM me (I have anonymous reviews on) please! I can't update until you do!)**


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